


blood in, blood out

by Varesa



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Especially if he's your father-in-law, F/M, Gen, Implied Sibling Incest, References To Domestic Abuse-Non Descriptive, References To Marital Rape-Non Descriptive, Why you should never piss off the most important man in the Christan world, fathers and daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varesa/pseuds/Varesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His daughter is <i>strong</i>, and blood will always out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood in, blood out

**Author's Note:**

> I - I wrote this in twenty minutes, _drunk_. Skill.

His hands shake.

His daughter – his beautiful, perfect girl – sits beside him, her own hands folded tightly against her body as she quietly recounts the brutal tale of her life in Pesaro. It's the second time that she falters, her breath hitching and she darts a quick glance to her brother, that he finally says to Cesare, “Leave us.”

Cesare stiffens, his face black with rage. He's in a corner of the room, half-enveloped in shadows and there is a cast to his face that makes him look like the wrath of God. “Father, I—”

“Leave,” he commands.

His son is furious, but will not lose control here, not in front of Lucrezia. Instead, he sucks in a breath and crosses the room, dropping to a knee and taking Lucrezia's hands in his. “I will be nearby,” he swears to her and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Her face is drawn and pale, but she forces a smile for him. It almost looks real.

“I know,” she murmurs and he releases her, exiting the room. Father and daughter are silent for a long moment before she says to him, “thank you. I don't...” _Know if I could say this with him here_ , she doesn't say, but he hears.

Alexander the Sixth – _Rodrigo Borgia_ – touches her knee gently, encouragingly. “Please, continue, my sweet girl. Leave nothing out.”

Lucrezia smiles for him this time, her mouth white. She tells him of how her husband took her unwillingly, how he beat her, the servants, how she found peace and solace with a young man who was not her husband, how her husband reneged on their deal, how she – his heart swelled with pride and grief – fought back in a way only a Borgia could.

How she realized she carried another man's child.

When she finishes, her breath is hitching with sobs, but she is not crying. Her hands are tangled with her dress, skin white and stretched over her knuckles. 

Rodrigo is _furious_. Not at her – oh, never her, not his Lucrezia – but at himself. He put her in this position and now there's a light missing from the greatest gift God ever bestowed upon him, including the throne of Saint Peter.

He stands, crossing the room to the mantel of the fireplace. It's not lit and the stones are cold against his fingers as he places his hands on them. He can feel Lucrezia's eyes on him. With a calm he does not feel, he says to her without turning and facing her, “well. We simply must annul your marriage.”

There's a rustle of Lucrezia's dress. “Annul, Holy Father? But my marriage was consummated...?”

Rodrigo turns to face his daughter. “Was it? We only have his word that it was, but he will never tell the Pope of Rome – the father of the bride – exactly _how_ it was, will he?”

A shadow passes Lucrezia's face and she purposefully touches her belly, the gentle swell of where her child is growing. Rodrigo clicks his tongue. “Ah, but a noble woman's dignity must be spared. Who would force even _more_ humiliation on her, to force her to show her face, when her marriage has not been consummated because her husband is impotent?”

Finally – finally – light touches Lucrezia's eyes. “Impotence,” she echos in a whisper. Hope, joy, _revenge_ , grows in her soul. “Oh, father.”

He's never wanted her to see his side of him – this bloodthirsty, _vicious_ side, this Borgia side, but she is his daughter, his sons' sister, and she carries their blood in her. With swiftness that belies his age, he crosses the room, taking her hands into his and pulling her to her feet. “Shall I have your lord husband summoned?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes wide. 

Rodrigo kisses her and sends her out of the room, into the waiting arms of Cesare, the only man he can trust to never hurt her, to never raise his hand or voice to her. His girl has him wrapped so tightly around her little finger that her dear brother is helpless to her whims. 

He wonders if she'll ever know, if she'll ever use that to her advantage. His daughter is not a child anymore and that is his fault, but she is strong.

Blood will out.


End file.
